


Would It Really Be So Wrong?

by AmyViolet



Series: Sam Plus (Almost) Every New Direction [2]
Category: Glee
Genre: Canon Compliant, F/M, Mild Smut, Nudity, Sexual Inexperience
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-21
Updated: 2021-02-21
Packaged: 2021-03-18 21:14:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,449
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29615517
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AmyViolet/pseuds/AmyViolet
Summary: Mercedes is drunk and asks Sam to drive her home. Sam would never take advantage of his girlfriend being drunk. But Mercedes might have a slightly different view on the matter.
Relationships: Sam Evans/Mercedes Jones
Series: Sam Plus (Almost) Every New Direction [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2197722
Comments: 2
Kudos: 8





	Would It Really Be So Wrong?

It’s after midnight and Sam’s whole family is asleep in the motel room when Mercedes calls. She doesn’t usually call so late, so Sam skips right over _Hello_ straight to: “What’s wrong?” Even in his alarm, though, he has the presence of mind to whisper in hopes of not waking anyone up. 

Mercedes doesn't share his concern and cackles so loudly it wakes up Sam's dad, who sits up in bed and hisses, “Take it outside!”

“Sorry,” Sam whispers back before he steps over Stacey, fast asleep on the floor, to stand out on the concrete in his pajama pants and bare feet. “Mercedes, what's wrong?” he repeats.

Mercedes is laughing super hard, and there's lots of noise in the background—some music, plus at least one other person laughing—so it takes some time before he understands why she's calling. Long story short (too late!) she's at Tina's house, and they've been drinking, and she needs someone to drive her home so she's in her own bed when her parents get back from an overnight trip. Mike was totally going to drive her but then he ended up hanging out with them and getting drunk too, and “I hate to bother you but you're my friend, wink wink”—she says _wink, wink_ right out loud—“and I'd be so, so grateful if you could help me out, Sam! Sammy! Sammy Sammy Bo Bammy...”

“Yeah, of course,” he answers before she can sing the whole song to him. He ends the call and mutters, “Shit.”

It's not that he minds helping Mercedes out. Obviously he wouldn't want her or Mike or Tina to drive drunk. And it actually makes him really happy that she said that _wink, wink_ stuff in front of Tina and/or Mike. Well, it makes him a little happy—not as happy as if she had said it without being drunk, but still, she's the one who wants to keep their dating a secret for whatever reason, so he counts it as a win. But he still has the problem of how he's going to go back in the room, get dressed, get the keys, and get back out to the parking lot without waking anyone up.

He can't do it, it turns out. The drawer makes a noise when he tries to open it for some clothes, and his dad grumbles like he's about to wake up again, madder than the first time, and Sam abandons his plan to get dressed before grabbing the car keys and getting out of there.

He stands out on the concrete again and assesses his situation. It's still kind of hot out, even in the middle of the night, so being cold won't be an issue. He'll feel kind of weird driving across town in pajama pants and without a shirt or shoes, but there's not much he can do about that. The real problem is that if either of his parents wake up and look for him, they're going to be super mad that he just left without saying anything. But they both have to get up early, and they'll also be mad if he wakes them up—again, in the case of his dad. He settles on sending them a text and trusting that they'll check their phones if they really are worried about him before he gets back. He's knows that now he'll be in trouble no matter what, but probably not as much as if he got caught and hadn't texted.

Driving barefoot feels really weird. Not just like how he was thinking it would be—like being not fully dressed out in public—but, like, physically. The gas and brake pedals are heavier and rougher than he would have guessed. He gets lost on the way to Tina's house. He's been there once before, but not at night, and he wasn't the one driving then. He doesn't want to use the GPS on his phone because he has a pretty low data limit. He's about to give in and use it anyway when he recognizes a church he noticed the other time he went there, one that he remembers Tina's house as being sort of around the corner from, and he finds it. It's taken him way longer to get here than it should have, but if Mercedes is as drunk as she sounded, he's not too worried that she will have even noticed.

Sure enough, when Tina calls her to the door she doesn't mention how long it took, she just gives him a hug and exclaims, “Boo! You came!”

“Yeah, of course.” Sam leaves his arm around her even after she releases him from the hug—she feels a little wobbly and he wants to be able to steady her if necessary.

Mercedes leans against him and sort of nuzzles against his shoulder. “Isn't he the cutest?” she asks Tina.

“Sooo cute!” Tina agrees, before yelling, “But not cuter than you, Mike!” She studies Sam for a minute. “But, like, really, really close. Don't tell Mike I said that. Mike has really great abs, but yours are also, like...” She reaches out to touch them, but only the very tips of her fingers make it before Mercedes swats her hand.

“You've got your own man downstairs, hands off mine!”

Tina goes completely quiet and actually takes a step back. Then she shrieks and jumps up and down and asks, “Are you serious? Are you two...?”

Sam has no idea whether Mercedes if going to want to walk back her sort-of confession, so he just smiles in what he hopes is a vague manner.

Mercedes doesn't actually answer either, but she does announce, “Okay, I'm taking this man home with me before you pounce on him, Tina Cohen-Chang.” She hugs Tina and then yells “Good-bye Mike!” kind of right in Tina's ear. 

Sam guides Mercedes to the car, and she's actually walking a little steadier than he expected—like, not super steady, but not falling down either—so that's good. He backs out of Tina's driveway and then, rather than ask what he really wants to know, namely whether they still have to keep their dating a secret, he asks, “So, Tina and Mike are together now, or...?”

“Yeah, lucky for me or Miss Cohen-Chang probably would have put the moves on you!”

Sam grabs her hand. “Don't worry, Mercedes. I only have eyes for you.”

“And speaking of eyes! When I came to the door and saw you like this! I know Tina acted like she wanted to jump you but I almost actually did! What made you dress all sexy tonight?”

“Yeah?” Sam asks, though with a little bit of a chuckle. He knows Mercedes is all talk. Even that is just the...the whatever she had to drink tonight talking. “Then I guess that's why I dressed this way!”

“You naughty boy!”

“You love it, though.”

“Ha! You'd love it if I took you over my knee to teach you a lesson.”

Sam has no idea how to respond to that. They haven't done _anything_ , nothing beyond kissing, and Mercedes has never even mentioned stuff she _thinks_ about doing, and so Sam has no idea if what she's suggesting is something she'd even be into. Like, obviously she's only saying it because she's drunk, but it could be that she's drunk and just saying random stuff that pops into her head, or it could be that she's drunk and saying stuff she secretly really wants to do. Also, Sam doesn't know if _he'd_ be into something like that. He'd give it some thought if it were something Mercedes might actually like to try, but since it isn't, what's the point?

He's realizes he's been silent for a while now and, more surprisingly, so has Mercedes. He wonders if she's fallen asleep, and a quick glance confirms that she has. He's never really had a chance to watch Mercedes sleep, and obviously he can't really do it while he's driving, but he does take a minute after pulling up to her house before waking her. She's really pretty when she sleeps. He'd sit here with her longer, but her head is kind of resting against the window at a weird angle, and he's afraid she'll get a pretty bad crick in her neck if she stays that way too long. He brushes the hair from her face and repeats her name softly—and then not actually super softly because softly isn't doing it—until she wakes up. “Hey, baby. You're home.”

Mercedes takes off her seat belt and shifts from resting against the window to resting against Sam. “You just called me baby,” she says, punctuating each word by patting his leg.

Sam wonders if he's taken too big a liberty. He should be _more_ careful when she's drunk, not less. “I'm sorry. Mercedes.”

“No, no. I liked it.” She takes her hand off his leg and places it on his chest instead. “You never did tell me why you dressed so sexy to come pick me up.”

Mercedes hasn't really touched his chest much before—hardly ever, in fact, and never when he wasn't wearing a shirt—and he likes it. Like, a lot. 

He really can't afford to be flirty with her right now. He wouldn't actually take advantage of her or anything, but it's better not to even let himself be tempted. “I was asleep, actually. When you called. And I didn't want to wake my family up to get dressed, so. I wasn't trying to be sexy.”

“Oh, Boo, I'm sorry! I shouldn't have called you! I should have called someone else! Kurt, or...or...”

“No, don't be silly, you can wake me up any time. I'm always up for seeing you.” Shit, was that flirty? Even if she doesn't read any double entendre into _up_?

“Oh, Sammy. You're the sweetest.” Mercedes hasn't taken her hand off his chest, and now she's sort of nuzzling against his arm.

“Okay, let's get you to b-...” Sam stops himself from saying _bed_ , though of course that's where he needs to put her. Alone, obviously. “Let's get you inside before you fall asleep again.”

Mercedes has trouble finding her key when they reach the front door, and she has trouble using the key once she's found it, but they do eventually make it inside. 

There's the hand on his chest again! “You're coming upstairs, aren't you, Boo?”

“Uh. I mean, I don't want to just leave you in the foyer so, like, if it's okay for me to help you up...”

Mercedes giggles. “The question is do I need to help you _up_.”

Shit, Sam used that word again, and Mercedes did read into it! All he can do is pretend not to catch her meaning. “No, I can make it...” He stops himself before saying _up_ a third time. “I can handle the stairs, no problem. I'm not the one who's been drinking.”

Mercedes allows herself to be helped up the stairs and into her bedroom. Once in the room, and with a dexterity that kind of surprises Sam, she closes the door and pushes him against it. “I think you actually did know what I meant when I asked if you wanted help getting up.” She puts her hand on his chest again, and this time she lets it trail slowly down toward his waistband.

Sam wants to just let her hand keep going, he really does. Would it really be so wrong of him?

Probably, yeah. He takes the hand in his before it can reach its apparent destination. “Mercedes. You're right, I knew what you meant. But...”

“Oh. Oh _God_.” She turns away from him and covers her face with both hands. “I can't believe...I'm sorry, Sam, _of course_ you don't think of me that way.”

“Mercedes, what!? I _totally_ think of you that way, why would you say...” 

She's crying now. Sam gently puts his hand on her shoulder. She cries harder and says, “Sammy, you're the nicest guy on the planet but please don't tell me you're into me just to be nice.”

“I am super into you. I thought that was obvious. I would _love_ to let your hand go where it seemed to be going. But I know how you feel. I mean, the reason I haven't pressured you is I know how important your faith is to you.”

Mercedes turns back toward him and puts her face against his chest. She's still crying, really hard, and getting his chest wet. She says something, but it's pretty muffled and he's not sure he hears right.

“Did you say I'm a Christian too?” he asks.

Mercedes nods and sniffles.

“Yeah. Exactly. That's why I get it.”

“But that doesn't make any damn sense!” Her voice cracks on _sense_ , but she continues. “You're a Christian but you supposedly wanna do stuff, but I supposedly don't wanna do stuff because I'm a Christian.”

Sam is lost. Also, he's pretty sure he's not the one not making sense. “Huh?” 

Mercedes takes a couple deep breaths. She isn't crying anymore when she says, “Never mind. Forget I said anything. Just...lie down with me? I totally trust you not to put the moves on me.”

He shouldn't. He knows that. But...like, Mercedes really should get some sleep. And if she's not going to lie down by herself... “Yeah. Of course.”

She takes a step toward the bed but then stops and reaches up under her shirt. Is she going to get undressed? Sam should turn around and not watch. If he weren't so surprised he would turn around and not watch. 

Mercedes does not, after all, get undressed. All she does is unhook her bra, under the shirt, and somehow remove the thing through one of the sleeves. The shirt stays on the whole time, though it does ride up just a little, Sam gets a little glimpse, he thinks—the closest to a glimpse he's ever gotten of Mercedes's boobs. If she weren't drunk, if she were showing him on purpose... But she is and she wasn't (probably), so Sam pretends the sound of his breath catching was just a cough.

She drops the bra on the floor. It's black and lacy and, Sam imagines, warm and just a little damp. It must smell like her, like her breasts. He doesn't actually know what her breasts smell like. He wishes he did.

Sam doesn't bend down to touch the bra, to pick it up. But he can't help but look at it until his heart is beating way too fast and he forces himself to look up at her again, to see that she's caught him staring at her bra. “Sorry,” he mutters.

Mercedes steps out of her shoes and lies on top of her comforter, on her side. Sam lies on the edge of the bed, facing her. She scoots very close, almost pushing him off, and kisses him. 

It's not like they've never kissed before. But this time is _so_ different. They're in Mercedes's _bed_ , for one thing! Not really _in_ it, but _on_ it, which is almost as...as...not as _bad_ but like...as _signficant_. If Mr. Jones walked in on them right now he wouldn't just be cool with them being _on_ the bed together like this. (Mercedes did say her parents are out of town, right? Sam really, really hopes he didn't imagine that.)

Anyway it's not even just the bed thing. The way she's kissing him is so much sloppier than her usual kissing. She's kissing him sloppy and wet and hard and now she's pressing herself against him and Sam puts his hand on her hip and _maybe_ he means it as some sort of signal to her to slow down, but he doesn't want her to slow down and she isn't. Her boobs are right against his skin practically— there's just the one layer of cloth since she removed her bra, and he thinks he can feel a nipple! And her hand is roaming all over his back and dangerously close to his butt. Sam extricates his mouth to say, “Baby, please. You're making this really hard for me.”

“Am I?” she asks, and it's totally not just an innocent question because she's sort of smirking.

Sam groans. Why did he have to say _hard_? “Baby, for real.”

She rests her hand on his shoulder. Much safer there. “Boo, do you want me to stop because _you_ want me to stop? Or because you think _I_ want to stop?”

“I...I just don't want you to do something when you're drunk that you wouldn't do when you're sober.”

“Well maybe _I do_ want to do something when I'm drunk that I can't do when I'm sober. Did you ever think of that? Did you ever think I got drunk on purpose on a night when my parents were gone so I could call you for a ride and bring you back here and do stuff I'm scared to do sober?”

“Um.” No, Sam actually never did think of that. Also she didn't sound especially drunk during that little speech. “You actually sound like you know what you're doing,” he says hopefully. Because if he wouldn't be taking advantage of her... 

“I do and I don't,” Mercedes says into his chest.

“Um.” And there Sam thought he was following her for a minute. “So...”

“I do. But I also am pretty sure that tomorrow I'm going to want to pretend that I didn't, okay? Not like I'm going to blame you for anything tomorrow. More like...more like I don't think I'll want to talk about it at all.”

“That..." Wow, it's really, really tempting to take her up on the idea, but, "It doesn't seem like the kind of thing we should just not talk about. Not to mention we should be prepared _before_ we do something like...like I didn't bring any protection or...and plus it would be your first time...well and my first time too, and that's kind of a big deal, and...”

Mercedes covers her face and Sam is afraid he's made her cry again. She's not crying, luckily, though she does sound embarrassed when she says, “I didn't mean _that_. I don't want you to fuck me.”

And just hearing her say _fuck me_ gives him a quick jab in his gut. He has _never_ heard her say the f-word. Even though she only said it to say it's _not_ what she wants—it's unexpectedly thrilling. After a minute of sitting with the fact that she just actually said that, Sam rallies enough to ask: “What did you mean then?” 

“I just want to...” She strokes his chest, his abs, on down to his waistband. “I just wanna touch you. Touch it.”

“It?” Sam asks. Though he has a pretty good idea what she means, he thinks. He really hopes so, anyway.

“You just wanna make me say the word?”

“I would _love_ to hear you say the word,” he answers, probably way too honestly. He doesn't even know which word she's thinking of specifically. He kind of hopes it's _cock_ but thinks _penis_ is more likely. Even hearing her say _penis_ would just about kill him. As long as it doesn't turn out to be one of the ridiculous ones like _wee-wee_ or something, he desperately wants to hear it. “You have no idea what hearing you say _fuck_ did to me.”

“Yeah? Would I have an idea if I could feel it?”

She's asking if he's hard, isn't she!? He totally is, even without her saying the word. It just makes him want her to say it even more. “If you could feel...”

She bites her lip and looks around at several points in the room before settling on his face. She looks right in his eyes for a second but then looks away before saying it: “Your dick.”

“Oh Jesus.” 

“Don't blaspheme.”

“I'm sorry.” He's sorry but, oh Jesus, that was even better than he expected.

“So can I?”

“Yeah, totally. Can I also touch you? Touch your—“

“No,” she cuts him off. “I mean, I'd rather not. I'd rather not hear you say the word either. Sorry.”

“It's fine!” he assures her. “My bad. I shouldn't have asked.”

“Maybe next time I'll get drunker and then I'll want you to.”

“No, seriously. Forget I asked.” Sam hopes he hasn't ruined the moment.

“Okay.” She puts a hand in his hair and gives him a messy, wet kiss that leaves him with a fair amount of spit on his face. She pushes him onto his back and kisses and sucks at his neck. “I'll pretend to forget but I'm actually secretly glad you did ask.”

“Mm-hmm.” Sam is back to not following what she's talking about, and also he's hoping she'll stop talking and go back to doing that to his neck because it felt incredible.

She doesn't go back to doing that to his neck. She props herself up on one elbow and looks him up and down. She's quiet for so long that Sam's afraid she's lost her nerve. Especially since she doesn't seem drunk basically at all anymore. Though he doesn't know. It's hard to tell when she's not speaking or moving.

“Do you want to...” she starts, and she trails off. Sam is about to ask does he want to what when she starts again. “I'd like to see it. I understand if you don't want to take your pants off but...”

“No, yeah. I'll take them off if you want.” Sam hesitates just a few seconds, kind of hoping Mercedes will decide she wants to help him, but he doesn't dare wait too long in case she might interpret it as him not wanting to. Which he does. Obviously. He wriggles out of them, drops them on the floor, and returns to his position on his back, now in just boxers.

It feels so weird just lying there in his underwear with Mercedes just looking at him. She's not saying anything, and her face is inscrutable. He can't tell if she likes looking at him like this, like if she's turned on, or maybe just curious, or maybe she's panicking now to realize she's in (on) bed with her mostly naked boyfriend. 

Sam is...not _panicking_ exactly. Yes, a small part of him wants to jump up and put his clothes (such as they are) back on and drive back to the motel as fast as he can. But a bigger part of him actually likes the way Mercedes has him totally on edge like this. He desperately wants her to do something or at least say something; the suspense is killing him...but, like, kind of in a good way. He's totally torn between wanting to say something to break the tension and wanting to just lie there silently and keep the tension.

He lies there silently.

Mercedes continues to look him over. She's not making any move to touch him, to touch _it_ , even though she said she wanted to, even though it was supposedly the reason she told him to take his pajama pants off. He's still so hard, and she implied that she wanted to feel how hard, but maybe now she's not going to after all. Maybe she's totally sober already, and maybe that's good, this probably _wasn't_ a good idea after all, but...but she really had him thinking she was going to touch it.

Finally he can't stand it anymore. He turns to pick up his pants. “I should really—” 

“You should really take the boxers off too.”

Jesus. “I should?”

“You said I could touch it. I haven't even seen it yet.” She meets his eye for a few seconds; she's biting her bottom lip. She manages to maintain eye contact just long enough to once again say: “Your dick.”

And so Sam immediately takes the boxers off and lies back down, completely naked.

Mercedes is looking again, but unlike before when she was looking at different parts of him, now her eyes are zoomed in on his dick. 

Her mouth opens. Oh God! She's not really going to touch it with her mouth, is she? Because that would be so...God, just the thought of it—he swears he can actually feel the blood that's rushing to it right now.

Her mouth closes again. Damn it! Why did he even think...?

Opens again. Closes again. Opens, closes.

Sam squirms. Not just, like, emotionally, which he's been doing for what feels like forever. No, he squirms physically—a small movement, but enough to make him aware of how weird the comforter feels under his bare ass.

Mercedes opens her mouth again, and Sam wonders for a second if she's doing it intentionally, to mess with him. She's not, though; this time she's doing it to speak. “If you still want me to.”

Sam, nearly speechless, manages an “Uh huh.”

And she does, she touches it! 

Her palm glides super softly up his shaft, just barely touching as he twitches against it. And then one fingertip, tracing a line, a vein maybe. So little and so much at the same time.

“It's so...” She doesn't finish the sentence, leaving Sam to guess at what she might be thinking. 

_Big_? Does she think it's big? If she thinks it's big does she like that? Or does it scare her, does it make her think it might hurt to let him put it...He knows he's not going to get to put it anywhere tonight. But someday maybe? Jesus, that would be so amazing.

Or was she going to say _hard_ maybe? Because it is, it's so hard, that's not even a judgment, just an objective fact. Her touching it is making it even more so, though her touching it so lightly is giving him no hope of any relief. 

Sam hopes she was going to say one of those, _big_ or _hard_ , because all the other possible words that pop into his head are a lot less complimentary. Like _weird_. He hopes she doesn't think it's weird. Like, he knows she doesn't have a lot of other ones to compare it to. But what if she thinks dicks are weird in general?

Or _gross_. Oh God, what if she thinks it's gross!?

She doesn't stop touching it, thank God, so she probably doesn't think it's _too_ gross. And she 's using a couple fingertips now, not just the one, and she's applying a tiny bit more pressure. Just enough to make him think that maybe, maybe she'll apply a little more and a little more, and then...?

Oh, she's touching his balls now, with all her fingertips, all on the one hand anyway, and that's...and now she's not quite but _almost_ cupping them in her hand. And now she's using her fingernails, sort of tickling them. Sam involuntarily gasps for air, just a little, but it sounds so loud in the otherwise silent room. 

Mercedes stops moving her hand, and Sam could kill himself for spooking her.

But she moves it again, and not even as tentatively as before, not quite. Soon she actually grips his cock at the base. Not with her hand all the way around it, and not tightly, but still enough that she could move it around. Enough that she could jerk it. If she wanted to.

She doesn't jerk it—why would Sam even think she might?—but she does move her hand slowly up, all the way up to the tip...and then she abruptly pulls her whole hand back. “It's wet! Did you...”

“No! No, no! That's just...” Sam's not sure if he can say _pre-cum_ to Mercedes. He's also not sure if there's another word for it. “It's nothing.” 

She definitely looks spooked. “It's not...pee. Is it?”

“No! No, I promise, no! It's just something that happens to guys when they get hard. It's not...it's not the big ending or anything, and it's definitely not pee. It's just...I don't know why it happens, it just does.” He hastily wipes away the pre-cum with his palm, then wipes his palm on his thigh.

Mercedes seems to accept this, though she still looks wary. “Can I?” she asks, hand hovering over his shoulder. 

It takes Sam a second to figure out what she's asking before he tells her, “Yeah, of course,” and she wipes her hand on him. It's not even wet at all, at least that Sam can feel. He doesn't tell her that whatever pre-cum there was must have already soaked into her skin.

Sam is afraid she's done now. It's for the best if she is, probably. Just...he liked her hand on him _so_ much.

“So...” Mercedes says. “It's not gonna...” She mimes an eruption. “I mean, is it safe for me to keep...?”

“No, I promise it won't blow!” Why did he have to say _blow_? As if Mercedes's impression of it doing just that wasn't bad enough, now he's got the totally impossible thought of her sucking it his head. But he just promised not to blow, and he can't. If he couldn't promise that she'd stop for sure. “It's totally safe.”

She hesitates for just a second, then wraps her fingers all the way around it. Like she's going to jerk him off. Which she's not because she doesn't want an eruption, but God. His dick throbs in her hand. He thinks she must feel it—it's so obvious—but she doesn't take her hand away, thank God. 

Sam can't control the throbbing, but he tries to control his breathing, to keep it normal. Anything to not freak her out. 

Then she starts moving her hand up and down his shaft. Her grip isn't tight enough that she's technically jerking it, but it's enough that breathing normal becomes too difficult. But she's still not stopping, so as long as he can keep from moaning...

He moans. Just a little, just a tiny bit, but Mercedes stops, and he wants to cry with disappointment. But then she starts again, and he wants to cry with relief. She's gripping him a little tighter even, firmly enough that she actually is sort of jerking him now. Sam bites his lip to keep from moaning again, but another one escapes anyway.

Mercedes keeps going.

God, what if she doesn't mind anymore if he comes? What if he just does it? Will she be super mad? But he promised, so. But what if he asks and she tells him to go ahead? What if she _wants_ to see him do it now, what if she jerks him harder so he will. That would be so incredible, Sam thinks, as his hips move and he thrusts into her hand, involuntarily, just a little.

Mercedes pulls her hand away. Worse, she scoots away from him.

“I'm sorry, Mercedes, I couldn't help it!”

She rolls onto her back and closes her eyes.

“I mean, I couldn't help that, but I can still help...I still won't...” God, if she would just bring her hand back!

Mercedes is silent. Sam wonders if she could have fallen asleep. Or, like, passed out; he suddenly remembers about her being drunk.

“I'm sorry,” she says eventually. “Thanks for bringing me home. You should get back before your parents worry.”

“But...” The last thing Sam cares about right now is his parents. He knows now for sure that Mercedes is not going to make him come. She wouldn't even be cool with him making himself come. Probably. Would she maybe...? No. But. “But I should stay with you. In case...”

“I'm not going to puke in my sleep, Sam. I'm fine.”

She does sound fine. Sam's not actually worried she's going to puke. He tries to think of something, anything to say that would convince her to let him stay. 

He can't. 

He gets off the bed to put his underwear and pajama pants back on. Mercedes turns onto her other side, facing away from him.

Sam opens the bedroom door, stands in the doorway. “You're sure you're okay?”

“Fine. Thank you,” she says, completely neutrally.

“I just. I hope you're not mad. I didn't mean to—“

“That's silly, there's nothing to be mad about. You drove me home and I appreciate it.”

Sam remembers her saying she probably wouldn't want to talk about this later. Apparently she was really serious about that. “Okay, well. Good night.”

“Good night, Sam.”

**Author's Note:**

> I wanted to write a smutty Samcedes one-shot set between seasons two and three, but this is as smutty as I could get it without making one or both of them wildly out of character.


End file.
